


Nectar

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Collars, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Bilbo, Lactation Kink, Leashes, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:55:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For his loyalty, Bofur is given a chance at Bilbo’s chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nectar

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fic for anon’s “Female hobbits can easily be induced to lactated even if she does not have children. They are made this way because of how very fertile hobbits are, and it's always beneficial to have someone else around who can feed the youngest. So Fem!Bilbo with her large breasts full with milk to the point of leaking, and Bofur suckling on her, reliving her of the slight pain of having so full breasts. bonus if He fingers her as he suckle on her. His mustache tickles her breasts a lot. He is not the only dwarfs in the company who have been at her breasts.” request on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24904821#t24904821). (Sorry, I twisted it a little to make it primarily Baggenshield...)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Though he’s never set eyes on it before, Bofur knows _exactly_ when he’s found the Arkenstone. The iridescent glimmer is unmistakable, the _power_ it seems to radiate utterly intoxicating. There’s a brief, traitorous moment where he considers stealing it away, hiding it in his person stash to someday fund every last one of his dreams, but then his heart beats again and the dwarf he really is shines through. The Arkenstone is mesmerizing, wondrous, and all-important, but it belongs to the king under the mountain, and Bofur’s been loyal to Thorin from the start. 

He heads off for the private chambers Thorin’s taken up in. They’ve all selected their own, having many halls to choose from, and it’s late enough that Bofur and Nori were the only ones still playing around with the treasure. Neither of them were particularly looking for the Arkenstone, figuring it would be a one-in-a-million find, so Bofur leaves Nori to sort through the mass of jewels he’s picking out for his own collection. Dragon-lit torches still light the way down the vast Erebor halls, and Bofur tries to creep past the other rooms as quietly as possible; they all deserve their rest. Thorin’s been pushing them to their limits looking for this stone, but hopefully this will earn them all a nice lie-in tomorrow. 

When he does round the corner to Thorin’s quarters, all Bofur can think of is the look that’s going to be on Thorin’s face. He’ll probably break into a giant smile, something that Bofur’s been dying to pull out of him since this miserable quest started. 

Bofur expects to find Thorin alone, winding down to sleep, but he’s not that surprised when Thorin is, in fact, with Bilbo. The little hobbit’s standing beside Thorin’s bed, tucked between his spread legs, but she glances over her shoulder when Bofur enters the blockish stone enclosure. He’s several steps inside before he realizes that Bilbo’s topless and blushing hotly, so proper as she usually is. Her arms clasp around her large breasts to hide them, but Bofur’s already politely averting his eyes. He desires her just as much as all the dwarves do, and he’s had plenty of fantasies involving walking in on her undressed, but she’s given them no indication she’d be open to it. Other than to Thorin, of course, who she’s all but professed belonging to. And Bofur knows better than to mess with the king’s treasures.

Thorin looks around her, his hands on her plump hips, to growl, “We’re busy.”

Bofur hesitates and _almost_ stops, but the Arkenstone weighs heavy in the hat he holds in his hands, and he keeps walking. He had to wrap it up so as to not stare at it the whole way here, knowing it would just tempt him to keep it. Instead, he walks right up to Thorin’s side, using every ounce of strength he has to not look down at Bilbo’s cleavage. Unfortunately, he can’t avoid what filters into his peripherals, and he sees that Thorin’s fitted her with a snug, ruby-embedded collar and a delicate gold chain. The chain is hooked to her collar and trails down between her breasts, into his hand like a leash. Bofur nearly drops the stone at this discovery, but somehow he holds it together and thrusts his hat out.

He says, high pitched from the burglar’s proximity, “I found it.”

Thorin’s expression changes in a heartbeat. One minute he’s nearly growling, glancing between Bofur and Bilbo, and the next he’s ogling the glow of the Arkenstone, face lit with its light. Even Bilbo looks down, dropping her arms before quickly wrapping them around herself again. Her expression is one of awe, Thorin’s of a hunger that boils dangerously close to lust, and Bofur feels a stab of pride at having pleased his king. He has to struggle to keep his own grin from being too wide. When Thorin looks up at him, it’s with more delight than Bofur’s ever seen on that handsome, royal face.

“You’ve done well, Bofur,” Thorin drawls, slow and strong, before reaching out a hand to clap on Bofur’s forearm. “Very, very well.” Then Thorin is reaching for the Arkenstone, plucking it gingerly out of Bofur’s hat. Bofur watches Thorin turn the stone over for a minute before he puts the hat back on his head.

Beside him, Bilbo breathes, “It’s beautiful,” and that just makes Thorin’s smirk stretch all the wider.

He looks up at Bilbo, hungry all over again, and then his gaze slowly shifts back to Bofur. He strokes the Arkenstone once, then places it down in his lap. Bofur doubts it’ll leave the king’s presence for some time. Leaning slightly over it, Thorin tells Bofur in an almost conspirator’s tone, “You will be rewarded for this.”

Bofur, somehow, hadn’t even thought of that. He finds himself bashfully shaking his head, insisting, “There’s no need.”

But Thorin insists, “Yes, there is.” Then he glances at Bilbo again before announcing, “You will get a special treat... assuming my other treasure is willing.”

It takes Bofur a second to realize just what that ‘other treasure’ is. Then he notices Bilbo nodding beside him. He can’t help but look at Bilbo’s face, to find Bilbo’s cheeks flushed and her teeth chewing nervously on her bottom lip. She’s looking straight at Thorin, and Bofur gets the distinct impression they’re communicating with their eyes, following the boundaries of the relationship that’s steadily been building for this entire journey. Seeing Bilbo’s gesture, Thorin reaches for her hips, spins her slowly around, and pulls her down to perch on the end of his knees. With the Arkenstone in his lap, he can’t take her all the way against his stomach, but she’s small enough that there’s more than enough room for this. Then the scene gets even better, and Bilbo drops her arms. 

Bofur, for one helpless second, stares, transfixed, at her beautiful breasts, heaving off her chest, so very large for her little proportions. Her nipples look like they’re shining in the firelight, moist and erect, jutting up into the air. The gold leash that trails between them only adds to the peal, highlighting their heft. It takes a tremendous amount of will power for Bofur to look away, but he manages.

Except that Bilbo murmurs, “It’s... it’s okay. You can look.” Bofur, though shocked, does so instantly. For all the courage that Bilbo’s gained on their adventure, she can still be hopelessly proper and shy at times, and now she looks as nervous and small as ever. But she said Bofur could look, so he does, eyes devouring the full curve of each breast. 

“It seems,” Thorin starts, wrapping one hand loosely around Bilbo’s waist, “that hobbit biology is as different on the inside from men and dwarves as it is on the outside. Apparently, as our dear burglar so kindly informed me, they’re quite fertile creatures.” Shocked, Bofur can’t believe what he’s hearing, but Thorin goes on like it’s all perfectly normal, “Our little Bilbo is in the prime years of her life, and so ridiculously fertile, in fact, that her tits are perpetually ready to give milk. The poor thing actually had to drag me aside on a few occasions to milk her, because her breasts were growing so heavy they were leaking into her shirt. It was quite a delicious drink to have on the go. On the rare time I was too full, I let my nephews suckle her.” Thorin pauses here, looking thoughtful, while Bofur _gapes_ —he knew Thorin and Bilbo had a special relationship, but he had no idea Thorin was _milking_ her. The thought of Bilbo on all fours in the middle of the wilderness with Thorin tugging at her breast fills Bofur’s imagination, replaced a moment later by the image of Fíli and Kíli each latched on to one tit and sucking away. Bofur was never been jealous of those related to Thorin before, but now he’s intensely so and can’t help but wonder who else got a turn. Did Balin get hobbit milk? Did Dwalin?

Before this can even all sink in, Thorin continues in a deep, proud but possessive voice, “And tonight, it seems, my Bilbo has reached that point again, where her breasts are so full it _hurts_ her not to be milked.” One of his hands climbs up her chest, and in a special little show of emphasis, Thorin spreads his thick fingers around her flesh and squeezes. Bilbo gasps instantly, head ducking forward and mouth opening wide, while her pebbled nipple leaks out a little stream of white. Thorin presses one fingertip over the nub as if it to stopper it, and he swirls the nipple absently around while he offers, “For your service, you can have the honour of tasting Bilbo’s latest load.”

Bofur’s head, so fixed on Bilbo, snaps to Thorin. He probably should’ve seen that coming, but he didn’t. He can’t believe that anyone with Bilbo would share. Yet Thorin is looking at him very seriously, and Bofur knows how important the Arkenstone is to him. All Bofur can do is stare, dumbfounded, until he manages to look at Bilbo’s flushed face long enough to mumble, “R... really?”

Bilbo looks sheepish, but she does nod, smiling cutely. Thorin tugs on her leash, and it makes her moan, eyes squeezing shut, and Bofur understands: Bilbo _likes_ being Thorin’s pet. Bofur already knew she’d follow him anywhere, but now he knows how truly far that extends. Her hands slide along her thighs as he watches her, hiking up her little skirt, and the tighter her arms are together, the more they push out her breasts. Bofur has to hold himself back from lunging right at her. He tries, instead, to wait for instructions, knowing he won’t be allowed to just take Bilbo back to his room for privacy. Not that he minds if he gets her right here, in front of Thorin. They’ve all seen enough of each other on this journey, though Bilbo has always been the most covered, until now. Yet when Thorin’s hands push her by her shoulders, she takes a deep breath and moves forward, slipping off him. 

She sits down at his feet, instead, kneeling with spread thighs on the cold stone floor, her back to Thorin’s knees. The collar drapes over her shoulder, back up into the hands of her king. She looks up at Bofur with a face full of _longing_ , and Bofur’s not so sure if he sits down or if his knees buckle and he falls. He lands right in front of her, leering over her chest, held back only by some thin strand of what’s right and wrong—it’s hard to believe that their little Bilbo is really offering him this. 

But then she slips her hands beneath her breasts, fingers squeezing to push them forward, and she leans with it, holding them out to him and moaning softly, “Please...”

Something inside Bofur snaps. He means to reach for her with tentative hands, but instead he’s diving forward. He grabs one full tit in each palm, his stubby fingers not even able to reach all the way around them. Bilbo’s hands fall away to make room, and Bofur is left holding them up, making Bilbo lift on her knees, and he tugs them out to dive his face into them. Bilbo squeaks in surprise, though the sound is muffled to Bofur’s ears. He’s busy grinding his face into her, inhaling the almost floral aroma of hobbit skin, feeling her soft flesh squish around his chin. Then she makes a sound suspiciously like a giggle. When he pulls his face away, mostly for air, her face is completely red, and she mumbles with a little smile, “S-sorry, your... your mustache tickles.”

Bofur just grins. She’s adorable when she laughs. He had the pleasure of drawing so many of those giggles out of her one the journey here, either in joke or song, but none have been quite this fun. He dips his chin to rub his beard against her left breast, and Bilbo clamps a little hand over her mouth, trembling. She looks torn between laughter and moans: a very attractive mix. 

So Bofur leaves her to it and nuzzles into her cleavage again. Hopefully Thorin’s alright with him playing first, because he can’t help himself. He wants her milk, of course, is curious and thirsty, but these beauties merit all sorts of touches, and Bilbo doesn’t seem to mind. When Bofur sticks out his tongue against her soft skin, she gasps and arches up into him, whimpering quietly, “B-Bofur...” That only spurs him on; she’s called his name many times, but never so erotically.

It’s all he can do to pull away for breath again. As he does it, he feels a slight dampness pressing into his chest, and he looks down to realize that her breasts, squished against him, are leaking. Bilbo whines again and bucks lightly into him, making them swell. Bofur can see exactly why Thorin wanted to fit a collar around her neck and claim her. Bofur’s spent most of this quest glad he isn’t the one in charge with all the responsibility, but looking at the prize that is Bilbo Baggins’ body, Bofur can’t help but feel jealous. 

But then, he’s lucky enough to get this shot with her, and he grabs one tit in his hands, squeezing once to make her squirm and gasp, “Gentle!”

He grunts, “Sorry,” but can’t do much more—all his usual talk has drained out of him. Maybe he’ll be able to write a song about this later, one that’ll have all the others squirming in their beds, but for now, his brain’s a mess. He opens his mouth only with the intention of filling it, and he drops his head to swipe his tongue flat along her ripe nipple. The thin milk already beaded at it slips back into his mouth, and it’s just like Thorin said: _delicious._ Bofur’s never tasted anything so good in his whole life. Creamy, light, and a little sweet, it’s almost addictive, seeming to call to him, even more than the Arkenstone did: Bilbo is a treasure beyond all others. 

She bucks her chest into his face when he takes too long, and Bofur licks her again, then again, harder, his tongue flat and dragging across the little nub. He cleans off all the stray juice that had leaked out, and then he clamps his mouth around her nipple. It feels warm and silk-soft between his lips—he’s careful not to dig his teeth too hard into it. But he does dig his face into her breasts, squishing it forward, before he sucks _hard_.

Instantly, milk fills his mouth, filtering slow but with ease; Thorin wasn’t kidding when he mentioned the fertility of hobbits. Bofur tries not to swallow right away, because he wants to keep the tasty liquid in his mouth, but he can’t stop himself from sucking again, and then more is rushing in. He swallows down one load and quickly has enough for another, then another. His tongue swirls around it, encouraging the steady flow. Bilbo moans against him, a low, filthy sound, full of pleasure. Bofur’s already hard, his clothed cock straining against the fabric, but Bilbo’s noises make it so much worse. She even rocks against him, squirming in place, and Bofur pushes closer as much as he can, his big knees pushing her thighs to spread even more. He knows her skirt must be pushed back enough to expose her pussy, but he can’t bring himself to let go of her breast long enough to check. But by the time he’s swallowing his fourth of load of hobbit milk, Bilbo’s practically trying to hump his lap, and Bofur has to grab her hips to keep her still. 

He forces himself to pull off, dragging his tongue on the way to make sure he doesn’t miss a drop. Her breast falls heavily out of his mouth, the nipple glossy red, looking sucked raw, even though he’s sure there’s more in there. When he looks past them, he can see the tip of her lips peaking out beneath her stretched-open skirt. There’s a fuzz of golden hair around it, like on her head and her feet, but it looks so much smaller than the Dwarven women Bofur’s seen. All of Bilbo’s smaller, except her giant breasts and maybe the fullness of her hips to compensate. He means to ask if he can finger her, but Bilbo moans first, “Thorin... _ahhh_... can he... touch me?” She leans back on his knees as she asks, really looking for permission, and all Bofur can think is _damn_ , Thorin’s lucky.

Before Thorin can answer, Bofur blurts, “I’ll be good to her, I swear. Real gentle. One, maybe two fingers tops.” He feels stupid right after he says it, but Bilbo looks full of excitement, and she squirms back against Thorin’s legs until he nods. He seems to have eyes only for Bilbo, which suits Bofur just fine; when he’s latched onto her breasts, he forgets his audience entirely.

He dives in immediately for the second one, popping it right into his mouth and sucking _hard_. Bilbo _screams_ , and her hands fly up to his face, catching on his braids. He can feel his hat toppling off him and falling back, but he hardly cares. He uses one hand to hold her breast at his mouth and runs the other down her body, pressing in between her warm thighs. He cups her pussy and isn’t surprised to find it wet, almost dripping, radiating heat. He presses one finger into the slit while he suckles her nipple, and Bilbo cries out and humps his hand, her whole body shivering with delight. He rubs her faithfully while he drinks away. Sometimes he buries his face in, others draws it out, tugging her breast taut by the nipple, and once, he pulls back, just to lap over the little nub over and over again. Bilbo looks wild with lust, and Bofur just barely notices her leash pulling taut—her master holding her back from lunging into Bofur entirely. Bofur can’t blame Thorin, and he doesn’t push his luck, too happy with what he has. 

He drinks her even after he’s full. The hobbit milk is light but rich, filling, and before he’s ready, Bofur doesn’t think he can take much more. He suckles on her anyway, jumping to alternate between breasts, while he works his one finger shallowly inside her, mostly just stroking the outsides. She seems to love it all the same. Every noise she makes bring Bofur a little closer to his own completion. Finally, he tries to suckle one tit and finds there’s nothing less; he’s drunk her dry. He moves on to the other one, swallowing the last little dregs, though Bilbo keeps squirming just as much, and Bofur keeps fingering her. When he does pull back, he feels like some of the milk’s dripped into his beard, and he must look a mess, but he can’t care—he pushes one hand into his own lap, nearly bursting through the fabric. 

He finishes himself off by diving back into her breasts, wriggling his face in her cleavage while he palms his own cock, until he’s bursting inside his pants. He doesn’t even care that he’ll stain it or if it looks shameful or that Thorin never said he could, he keeps kissing and licking between her breasts while he rides his own hand through his orgasm, feeling dizzy and already spent with the thickness of hobbit milk inside him. 

When he’s spilled everything he has, he’s almost too satiated to move, and he humps against her, only vaguely aware that she’s still writhing and moaning. He sort of wishes he could get away with falling asleep right here. 

But of course, Thorin pushes him back. The big hand gives him one shove against his shoulder, and Bofur falls to the floor, panting hard and feeling too good to get up right away. Instead, he just watches as Bilbo turns around, humping Thorin’s leg and nuzzling into his lap. Thorin pets her hair and murmurs, “Don’t worry, my treasure. I’ll fill you up soon. Perhaps we’ll even see if my Arkenstone could fit inside you—wouldn’t you like that?” Bilbo whimpers so horribly that Bofur can’t figure out if that’s a yes or a no. Then Thorin snaps, “Bofur,” and Bofur pushes himself up, groaning. He gets a pointed look from his king, and with one last longing look at Bilbo, Bofur straights up on his feet. 

He stumbles out of Thorin’s quarters in something of a haze, feeling ridiculously good and full and hearing Bilbo’s sweet cries all the way down the corridor. There’s no longer any doubt in Bofur’s mind: turning in the Arkenstone was _definitely_ worth it.


End file.
